Light Sitting Beside Your Empty Crib

The sun is coming up, and for you, the light feels like an intrusion on a grief that has no name. You wake to a silence that still echoes with a cry you never heard—a phantom sound of a baby who never took its first breath.

The world moves on into this new day, but your heart is still holding its breath in the dark. Yet the light does not ignore this empty space.

It steps into the room where the crib was never assembled and sits beside you. There is a promise that before you were formed in the womb, you were known—and so was the little one who slipped away before the world could see them.

They are not lost in the shadows of your sorrow. They are held in the same light that is now rising outside your window.

The morning does not erase the pain, but it proves that the light remembers what the night tried to hide.